


A Flurry of Green and Red

by writtenthroughtime



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Book 3: Voyager, F/M, Outlander - Freeform, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:37:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6053527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenthroughtime/pseuds/writtenthroughtime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bree goes through the stones before Claire on the journey to find Jamie in Edinburgh. Deviation from Voyager.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bree didn’t see her mother anywhere around the stones. Had her mother already gone through?  
Bree began to panic, rapid shallow breaths causing the dress to feel tighter with each motion. Jessica Gutenburg’s costume dress itched and scratched where the seams were laying against he skin. Tearing at the bejeweled chest, Bree’s movements became steadily shakier and erratic. 

“She’s gone,” Bree whispered. “She’s left without even a goodbye.” 

Roger reached out to comfort Bree, only to pull his hand back in indecision. “What if she hasn’t yet gone through? We might have arrived before her.”

Bree shook her head, red curls tangling into each other and tears streaming down her face. “No, she was gone. She is gone. How could she just leave me like this?” 

Roger watched as Bree fell to the ground, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. 

“Ba mo nighean ruaidh, ba.” Roger crooned into Brianna’s ear as he wrapped her into his embrace, slowly stroking her back. 

His voice a calming lull in her mind; she melted into his embrace and allowed whatever words he may be saying to settle her. 

“If ye are sure she’s gone, why not go after her?” Roger questioned, still soothing his hand up and down her back. 

“You—” Brianna hiccuped. “You think I should go after her? Through those stones?” Her eyes widened. Folding her arms around Roger’s back, she wasn’t ready to let go. 

“What do you have to lose? If your Mam is there, then there’s nothing holding you here.” Roger felt Bree’s grip tighten around his waist. He took a deep breath, willing away the tears that were threatening to spill over. “Go. Find her, find your father.”

“What about—” she mumbled into Roger’s chest, feeling the deep rumble of his voice on her cheek cut her off. 

“About me?” he let out a humorless laugh. “Dinna fash yourself about me, mo graidh. I’ll be fine here.”

“Come with me!” Bree’s plea hit him like a lightening bolt. 

Shaking his head he held her out from his chest. “I canna do that. It’s no my place to go there wi’ ye.”

Standing up and pulling Bree up with him, Roger turned her to face the large center stone that called out with it’s menacing buzz. 

“Go, mo nighean ruaidh, you must go.” Kissing the top of her head he squeezed her arms one last time. 

Taking him by surprise, Brianna spun in his arms and kissed him, pulling away only to rest her forehead against his chin. “The ministers cat is a loved cat.”

With that statement she was gone, a flurry of lime green skirts and bright red hair vanishing into the unknown. 

Roger felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest. The ache oozing into his blood with each pump of his heart. He staggered backward, away from the stone gripping at his chest trying to make it stop. Not watching where he was going he stumbled into something warm and soft, landing on it and hearing the thing emit an “Oof!” 

Quickly he scrambled to his feet to see one Claire Rand—Fraser, laying on the ground in an eighteenth century costume. 

“Mrs. Randall—I mean Fraser!” Roger exclaimed as he helped Brianna’s mother to her feet. “What are you doing here?” His eyes had gone wide as he frantically held on to Claire’s upper arms. 

“I could ask you the same!” Claire huffed out, brushing leaves and dirt from her skirts. 

“We—That is Brianna and I— came up here looking for you! To stop you or join you! But, and you’re— Oh God!” Roger clapping a hand to his head wobbled on his legs. “You’re here and Brianna went— Oh God, no, no. NO!” 

“Brianna?” Claire’s startled voice squeaked out. “Where is Brianna! Roger!” Claire smacked his hand from his head, forcing his head down towards his knees. “You must calm down. Where is Brianna?”

Roger gasped for air, like a drowning man at sea, unable to get enough, and pointed to the large cleft stone. 

“No. She couldn’t have.” Claire spun around to face Roger once more. “Why would she go?”

“To . . . find . . . you.” Roger wheezed out. 

Claire turned back to the stones, horrorstricken. Bree could have ended up in any time, no guarantees, and if she was thinking of her, Bree could have be stuck in a perilous limbo between times. 

“Thank-you, Roger, I hope we may meet again someday.” Claire whispered to him.

“How could we meet again?” Reason hadn’t yet caught back up with Roger to fully understand what was going on.

“You love my daughter, and she may not realize it, but she loves you as well. I would be surprised if you didn’t venture back to find her yourself.” Claire looked over her shoulder at Roger, who was slumped on the ground, stupefied into silence. “Maybe in time, you will gather the courage to travel as well.” 

Claire walked towards the stones, her middle finger tracing the weathered J scar on her thumb. “I’m sorry Jamie, I must find our daughter first.” She whispered to the wind and touched the stones.


	2. Chapter 2

Brianna hit the ground, rolling over in pain. However the stones work, they must tear you apart atom by atom and stitch you back together. She thought to herself. As the pain subsided, she raised her head taking in her surroundings. 

Roger was gone.

Her heart ached thinking his name. A few tears escaped, rolling down her dirty cheeks. 

Pushing her aches, fears, and heart break aside, Bree stood shakily determined to find her mother and father. Inverness was her first step, then Edinburgh and hopefully, her parents.

 

Claire felt the terrifying and excruciating power of the stones rip her body apart and then piece by piece put her back together again. Never again, she thought, spoke, whispered, or yelled into the haunting screams surrounding her. 

When she felt as though her heart was about to explode, and her body would give in to the call of death, Claire slammed into the cold, wet earth on the other side of the stones. 

“She made it through,” Claire muttered in disbelief. “She must have—she has to have made it through.”

Staggering to her feet, Claire took in the surroundings, the dark forests familiar, both newer and older than last she was there. 

“If I were Bree, where would I go to first?” Claire stood atop the faerie hill questioning the invisible paths to Inverness, Lallybroch, and Castle Leoch. Lallybroch, was her first instinct, but knowing her daughter, that would be the last place to go. Leoch would be empty—if time ran linearly, and she was indeed in the 1760s—taken over and abandoned thanks to the British Army. Logic told her Inverness was the only option, but her gut told her Edinburgh. 

Her daughter was always a smart, observant child. Now she had grown into an intelligent and canny woman; Claire prayed that would be enough for her to easily adapt and make her way in whatever time they may be in. 

 

Bree wandered down the cobbled streets searching for any sign of her mother, or the description her mother had told her of her father. The silk dress was tattered; the lime green color stained an olive-muddy green and torn from the harsh travel. The jewels had gradually fallen off, but they proved useful as a bartering item—the crystalline costume jewelry mistaken for precious stones—had gotten her passage, food and what she assumed to be Scottish whisky. 

The looks strangers had given her as she walked down the street caused her to quicken her step and search all the more fervently for any sign of her parents. Exhausted and in need of a rest, Bree looked for an area that would seem useful and safe for this cause. She set her sights on a large fountain sat in a square, multitudes of people fluttering by. Perfect, she thought to herself. 

Making her way across the square and to the fountain, she dipped a shred of her dress into the water to cool her neck off—all the while still constantly searching the crowd for a head of hair like her own and her mother’s wayward curls. 

“Brianna Ellen!” She heard the ghost of her mother’s voice shout. Her heart clenched. 

“Brianna!” She heard again. This time, the voice seemed to be nearby. 

“Mama?” Bree whispered, whipping her head around, desperate to find the source. 

“Mama!” She exclaimed launching herself at a figure ten feet away. 

Her mother’s arms wrapped around her, tight and comforting. Bree’s shoulders shook with the sobs she’d held back for the majority of her journey. “You…left…without me,” she hiccuped the words into her mother’s neck.

“No, my darling girl,” Her mother whispered into her ear. “You left before me. I ran into young Roger Wakefield before discovering you had jumped through time.” Her mother pulled back and then caressed her face. “Why did you go, darling?”

“You didn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t…I had…” Bree lost the ability to speak, as her throat became filled with raw emotion. 

Claire pulled her daughter tight to her breast again, lying her head against the tangled red curls. “Shh, my love. I’m here now.”

Bree’s sobs quieted as she savored the feel of her mother’s touch. “I thought you left me, forever.”

Claire’s heart broke at that. That was what she had been avoiding and yet planning on doing all along. “I did not leave you—I could not leave you, forever.” 

Stroking her daughter’s back, Claire gently pulled away from Brianna. “Come, darling. We need to find your father.”

“How do you know we’re even in the right time? He could be anywhere!” Brianna said frantically, unwilling to fully believe what they might find. 

Claire smiled softly, “We are in the right time. You lead us to him.”

Brianna looked at her mother puzzled. “How—?”

“That’s how you move through time. There’s an anchor point you need to focus on. Finding me must not have been your only desire.” Grabbing Brianna’s hand, Claire began to weave her way through the crowded streets of Edinburgh. 

“We may be off by a few years,” Claire said to Brianna, offhandedly. Brianna stopped walking, eyes wide in horror. Laughing at her expression Claire grabbed her hand to urge her on and explained, “That’s what happened to me before. When I first traveled back, it was 1945 then I was in 1743. Two-hundred and two years in the past—time may be somewhat linear, but it’s not an exact science.” 

“Couldn’t we ask someone? Or grab a newspaper clipping?”

“Oh, yes we could,” Claire nodded and smirked, “If I had not already done so.” 

“Mama, where—or rather, when are we?” Bree huffed. 

“Exactly two-hundred and two years from whence we came. Jamie should be close by.” Claire said, searching every sign on the street. 

Claire’s pace quickened to a run; Bree scrambling to keep up, calling out for her mother to slow down. 

“Jamie,” Claire murmured hoarsely, eyes filled with tears as she stopped in front of an old building, it’s doorframe and window frames recently shellacked a shiny black. 

Claire’s fingers gently traced the words:

A. Malcolm   
Printer Bookseller

“Is it him, Mama?” Bree asked in a barely audible whisper.

Claire nodded unable to speak and unwilling to tear her eyes from the sign. Her heart was overflowing with joy. Her husband, her love, her soul was just inside that door. Her daughter, her other love, her greatest joy and gift by her side was to finally come face to face with the man who should have raised her. 

Brianna, noticing the tears welling in her mother’s eyes, wrapped her arms around her shoulders, unable to see her mother upset for any reason. Her mother patted her hand, soothingly. Breaking her gaze from her mother, Bree looked up at the shop and briefly wondered what he would be like. Would he recognize her for who she was? Would he love her? Would he even like her? She felt her heart quicken and sweat break out on her palms. 

Without a word, Claire squeezed her daughter’s hand and entered the shop. Her heart jumped into her throat at the sound of his voice, the same as she remembered so many times, only with a hint of frustration and sadness. 

“It isn’t Geordie,” she said, aching for him to turn around. “It’s me, Claire.”

 

Jamie Fraser’s heart tightened at the sound of the voice; the voice of a lingering ghost. A haunting fragment that not only soothed his soul, but tortured him endlessly. Slowly turning around, he knew to expect a vision of his wife; what he didn’t expect was tall, beautiful, redheided lass to be standing hand-in-hand with her. The lass looked uncannily like his mother, only with a few differences. This must be his mind playing tricks. 

Claire stepped closer to him. He smirked at the new vision before him; she had aged well and beautifully, like the best whisky. Those whisky colored eyes bored into his. “I’ve missed you, Sassenach.”

“Jamie,” Claire whispered, allowing a tear to fall as she hesitantly reached out to stroke his face. Cupping his cheek in her hand she whispered to him, “I’ve missed you, more than I can bear to say.”

“Dear God, you’re real!” Jamie exclaimed, grabbing on to her hand. “You’re real!”

Tears and nerves started to flow and shake both of them, smiles reflecting one another. “How did ye find me, mo nighean donn? How did ye get here?”

Claire smiled at his remark and leaned forward she to gently place her lips against his. Warmth spread throughout his body; an indescribable course of emotions flowed through him as he deepened the kiss. Pausing, savoring the feel of her lips—a feeling he never thought he would experience again—he let himself fall back into love, and back into happiness. 

“Jamie?” Claire whispered breathily against his mouth. 

“Aye, mo nighean donn?” he whispered back, kissing her forehead and gathering her up in his arms, never wanting to let go.

“There’s someone with me you should meet.” Claire tipped her head up and gazed into the blue eyes of the man she loved, overwhelmed with the feelings he produced at every touch.

His eyes shot over to the lass, standing awkwardly by the door. “Yes, you need to meet her.” Claire told him, watching his eyes focus unknowingly on his daughter. 

Guiding him across the shop to where Brianna stood, Claire caressed his hand with soothing circles of her thumb. Brianna stood, shoulders hunched and head down. Jamie’s hand reached out and retracted multiple times before Claire took hold of it and together, they eased Brianna’s chin up. Jamie gasped as he got the first full look at his daughter. His heart knew what his head could not yet process. 

“Is she…is…is she?” he stuttered out, voice quavering with emotion, 

“Jamie, this is your daughter, Brianna Ellen.” 

Jamie sobbed, clapping a hand to his head and bending over before falling to his knees before them. Brianna timidly knelt down in front of her father. She reached out and touched his right hand, the fingers callused and ink-stained, seemed to sit at awkward angles. 

“He is real,” she murmured to herself. 

“Aye, mo chridhe, I’m real.” He said, turning his hand over and lacing his fingers with hers. “God, ye are so beautiful, mo chridhe. Ye look just like your Grannie Ellen, my Mam.” 

Gently with his free left hand, Jamie touched her hair. “Mo nighean ruaidh.”

“What are you saying?” Bree asked, searching her father’s face and finding similarities that made her stomach flip. 

“Ach, no but a wee pet name my Da used to call my Mam: my redheaded lass. I can see ye, touch ye, smell ye and speak to ye, and yet my mind willna let me believe what is here. My wife and child, with me, I—I—” his voice cracked as tears slid down his face. “I have loved ye since before ye were born, mo nighean ruaidh, and I will always love ye. I have prayed for yer safety, happiness, and health since the moment I kent yer Mam was with bairn; and now to see ye,” he reached out and stroked her cheek, “touch ye, I’m overcome wi’ joy.”

Jamie turned to look at Claire, who had knelt beside him, her hands resting on his shoulders. “Thank-you, Sassenach. You’ve managed what I couldna… the ability to raise our daughter.” He leaned down and kissed the hand closest to his head, resting his face against it. 

“You gave me that chance, Jamie. You’re the reason she’s alive.” 

Releasing Brianna’s face, Jamie reached out and pulled Claire to his chest. Brianna eased her hand out of his and wrapped it around the side of his neck, burying herself into a hug with her mother and father for the first time. 

“Mo graidh, mo chridhe,” Jamie reverently whispered, as he melted into the embrace of his family.


End file.
